Iconic Almacenes Ultra Store in Havana Falls into Disrepair

A video shared by opposition activist and former political prisoner Silverio Portal on social media sheds light on the appalling conditions and extreme neglect faced by the once-renowned Almacenes Ultra store, situated at Reina and Rayo in Central Havana. The footage exposes piles of human waste, sewage leaks, and a visibly decaying urban environment, which Portal claims led to the store's closure.

As Portal walks through the area, he voices his outrage, saying, "This is filth... the filth from the building above... look at Ultra," pointing to the sewage seeping from underground and flowing through the building's arcades. "They had to shut Ultra because of this," he asserts angrily, emphasizing that the issue has persisted for years without resolution.

The video incited anger among viewers who remember Ultra as a key commercial hub in the Cuban capital. Today, the site—closely tied to Havana's architectural and commercial history—lies in ruins, surrounded by debris, dampness, and fecal matter.

A Symbol of Commercial Decline

Founded in 1939 by Asturian entrepreneur César Rodríguez González, Almacenes Ultra was a pioneer in department store retailing in Cuba. Its building, officially known as the Edificio Reina, stands as a relic of Art Deco architecture with its iconic façades, terrazzo logos, and enduring metal structures.

For decades, Ultra offered fabrics, sewing supplies, and various goods, maintaining operations even after nationalization in 1959 and a partial restoration in 1994. In 2019, it continued to function as a store, albeit showing clear signs of wear and tear. According to the specialized blog Cubalogos, Ultra "remains a shopping reference due to its location and history," though it "requires a redesign of its commercial areas."

The founder's connection with the El Corte Inglés chain—where he was a major shareholder in the early days—bestowed a historical and business prestige on Ultra, which starkly contrasts with the complete abandonment now documented by Portal.

Part of a Widespread Decay

Ultra's situation is not unique. In recent months, CiberCuba has reported on the neglect of numerous public spaces and infrastructures across the country. The Ciudad Deportiva in Havana, for instance, displays clear signs of decay: overgrown weeds, litter, and disused buildings. A local shared images, commenting, "The grass grows on the track while the sporting spirit fades like the stadium's color."

In Camagüey, the stands of the Amador Fernández stadium were closed off due to collapse risks following the systematic theft of metal beams. The academy's deputy director stated, "There is no clear timeline or resources available" to carry out the necessary repairs.

More examples abound: the Versalles railway bridge in Matanzas is nearing collapse due to corrosion and trash accumulation; the children's park on the Havana Malecón, with rusted swings and broken structures, has been described by a user as "the ruins of the little Maceo park"; and the once-famous Parque Lenin has been labeled by citizens as "a giant dump" and "a haven for vagrants."

In Isabela de Sagua, Villa Clara, mass migration and a lack of opportunities have turned the once-active port into a ghost town. "What's left here are mostly elderly people; there's no youth," a resident lamented. In Santiago de Cuba, the Hotel Venus has been described as "a breeding ground for rodents in the city's heart."

Meanwhile, in the Edificio Girón in Havana's Vedado, following a 2024 fire, 132 families are left without elevator service. "Many haven't been able to leave their homes since the fire," residents shared, trapped without real solutions. At the Havana Musical Theater, now a dumping ground, citizens question, "How much longer will places like this be allowed to disappear from collective memory?"

Contemplating a Country's Downfall

The scene at Almacenes Ultra reflects the quiet collapse of places that once fueled urban life in Cuba. Abandonment, lack of public investment, and institutional negligence seem to have doomed not only the buildings but also the collective memory of entire generations.

As the government prioritizes tourism construction and makes unfulfilled promises, the Cuban capital crumbles before its people's eyes. Ultra, like many other sites, is no longer just a closed store; it is a tangible symbol of a city—and a country—losing more of itself each day.